


Pink Tea

by PalenDrome (nerdherderette)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Canon Universe, Drabble, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hopeful Ending, Inspired By Tumblr, M/M, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-26 23:26:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13868211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdherderette/pseuds/PalenDrome
Summary: Kylo thinks that staying in bed is the best way to recuperate from the hurt of the world.Hux knows better.





	Pink Tea

**Author's Note:**

> _Kriff,_ I actually wrote something G-rated!!!!
> 
> Written for 2018's [**HurtKylo fest**](https://hurtkylofest.tumblr.com/post/170574449889/15-days-of-hurting-then-comforting-kylo) on Tumblr. Included are the prompts for  Days 1-4 (because I was too lazy to do them individually):  
> 1\. Wounded (pride)  
> 2\. Crying  
> 3\. Broken Promises  
> 4\. Bedridden
> 
> Title based on this quote from Ty Cobb: _Baseball is a red-blooded sport for red-blooded men. It's no pink tea, and mollycoddles had better stay out. It's a struggle for supremacy, a survival of the fittest._

 

* * *

 

The white-blue lights of the _Finalizer_ are nothing compared to the sunlight on Er’Kit. Even now, the sooty windows of the borrowed (or more likely, forcibly stolen) Q-ship do little to filter its brightness. Instead, the dust motes highlight the crimson rays that steal over Kylo’s pallid complexion, painting it pink. Should someone chance to see the ex-Supreme Leader of the First Order at this very moment—with his long limbs splayed across the bed, eyes closed, lips parted—they could easily mistake the color that graces his cheeks for a lovely blush.

Kylo moves. It’s a small gesture, away from the light, but it places his face against the sheets, presses his nose against their cotton surface. They smell somewhat familiar, having been laundered with the same antiseptic detergent that seems to be prevalent no matter the ship, or the side, or the planet. The coarse weave of the fabric is obvious, and he knows it should feel rough against his skin. But even though they leave their marks when buttressed against him for too long—and despite the heaviness in his heart—he feels oddly numb. Detached. Weightless.

He hears something clattering in the galley and this time he does flush, his humiliation real. It’s the first emotion he’s experienced in the last forty-eight hours, and when he feels the heat in his face, the tension in his back, and the speeding of his heart, he’s not sure whether he’d prefer to go back to feeling nothing at all. When the shock of their betrayal— _her_ betrayal—sent him into a dizzying spiral of rage before tumbling into an insensate void.

The motley crew of poorly-matched Resistance fighters and the handful of mercenaries who had the misfortune of accompanying them were no match for his powers. Kylo had dealt with them swiftly—dispatching each one methodically, his lightsaber singing until the air no longer sizzled but was filled with the emptiness of its steady hum. In the end, it wasn’t the physical exhaustion that had caused his legs to buckle, his knees sinking into the earth, its terracotta dust stained a currant red. The phrases _Join me;_ _Come back;_   _I miss you;_ and _I need you, Ben_ echo through his mind, their once-sweet appeals now mocking him for his vanity.

He squeezes his eyes tight. The same voice which had once sang to him as a babe, the heartbeat which had filled his ears with a mother’s love as he lay snuggled against her breast, now complicit in his fate whether by direct command or purposeful neglect. The second voice that had called out to him in his visions—belonging to she who had held his hand, fought by his side, her hazel eyes fierce with determination and promise—in the end, just one more in the line of endless perfidies.

His cries lodge deep in his throat, their broken call a pauper's sorrow despite the plenitude of his tears. So he collapses onto himself. Draws away from the world which seems to take pleasure in rebuking him time and again as he withers away inside.

The clattering stops. A moment of silence spreads heavily through the ship before the click of his rescuer's heeled boots against the steel floor grows louder. Kylo wonders what’s next. Disapproval and censure? A superior smirk and a dressing down?

Court-martial and execution?

The smell of tea tickles his nostrils. Tarine; Kylo’s smelled it often enough to know it by heart. It’s nearly impossible to obtain here in the Outer Rim, and even though it’s not to his taste, he finds the association soothing.

The lumpy mattress dips.

“Drink.” The sharpness of the command is softened by something that resembles worry.

Kylo pulls the hem of the threadbare sheet even closer.

“Petulant child.” There’s another pause, then delicate fingers are brushing against his hair, pulling the wayward strands off his face. Kylo hears the gentle weight of the cup being placed on the bedside table, smells the hint of a spicy and masculine soap growing stronger as a pair of lips press much-too-briefly against his cheek.

They’re soft. He feels the heat spreading from their point of contact throughout his face, warming his body. It’s more effective than that brought on by his shame, or from the sun.

“Pull yourself together, Supreme Leader," Hux says. "We’re heading home.”

The click of Hux’s boots fade in the opposite direction, followed by a violent shudder as the Q-ship’s engines start. Kylo presses his fingers against his face. It still tingles from the memory of the General’s kiss. When he rubs his eyes, he’s surprised to discover that they are no longer wet.

He sits up, his body lurching from the days of disuse as the ship gathers speed, humming along the desert’s surface. He looks out the window; the dust kicks up, blurring the mountains until it coats the landscape, the associated memories disappearing in a cloud of pink. When there's nothing left to see, he turns his attention to the interior. If he angles his head just so, he can make out the flash of copper-red hair in the cockpit. Hux may not have spent his youth piloting junk heaps like Kylo, but the way he somehow manages the controls of this outdated, outmoded bucket of bolts makes Kylo’s heart leap.

He reaches for the cup of tea. He takes a sip and swallows. It’s bitter, but in the best way, warming him from the inside out as he finally gets on his feet.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come say "hi" on [Tumblr!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/nerdherderette)


End file.
